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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681410">Sometimes I Still Feel The Bruise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAFAB/pseuds/CaptainAFAB'>CaptainAFAB</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(shocking I know), Angst, Bottom Frank Burns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied past sexual relationship, M/M, Post-War, Smut, Top Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, hawnk, mild subspace vibes, safe sex is Best</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:02:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAFAB/pseuds/CaptainAFAB</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank sends a letter to a man he thought he’d never see again. He wasn't expecting a response. He certainly wasn’t expecting Hawkeye Pierce to show up on his doorstep, demanding answers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Burns/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sometimes I Still Feel The Bruise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>all aboard the hawnk train~</p><p>this exists because I listened to the mountain goats cover of <a href="https://youtu.be/S1WFEFb3Q18">sometimes I still feel the bruise</a> on repeat and could not get this idea out of my head so please feel free to listen to the soundtrack as you read</p><p>fun fact of the day: the terms "top" and "bottom" <a href="https://www.encyclopedia.com/social-sciences/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/topbottom">originated in the 1950s!</a></p><p>special thanks to my good friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms">holograms</a>, who cheered me on and helped inspire me to actually write this one. thanks peaches &lt;3</p><p>love you all,<br/>please enjoy ~</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Captain B. F. Pierce, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I hope this letter finds you well. This is Major Frank Burns. From Korea. We knew each other, once. I obtained your address from the Crabapple Cove local switchboard operator. She said she knew you. I do hope I am not imposing by sending this. I would hate to be a bother and I apologize if this brings up any unwanted sentiments.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I imagine you’re wondering why I am writing you. I, too, find myself wondering that. I wasn’t even going to write this one. But the truth is… I still think of you sometimes. When I walk into a bar and smell alcohol in the air. Or when I have a really terrible cup of coffee and it's like I’m right back there again. Or when my cheekbone throbs, just under my left eye. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And why now? Why not years ago? When the war first ended? Well, I’ve written a thousand of these letters, Pierce. I haven’t sent any, of course. Honestly, I haven’t even decided yet if I’ll be mailing this one. But now that Louise has left me I suppose I haven’t got anything to lose. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Look, I know we weren’t… What happened between us wasn’t anything to discuss. I know that. We never spoke. Those stolen moments in the supply tent were silent. For good reason. If I would have opened my mouth you probably would have socked me again... But I can’t ignore it any longer. I tried to lose that part of me in Korea. But I couldn’t. I can’t.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> As it turns out, I’d merely misplaced it. I had to know. To know if it was me, the way I am. Or just… you. So I went to one of those seedy locations where half the men dress like women and the women are... not present. I had to know. I let some stocky, bearded man take me home that night and, Pierce, you’re the only one I can tell. I didn’t... hate it. Sure, I may have despised myself in the morning but not during… it. Despite what you might think, I’m no fool. I know that it’s psychosomatic. Even still, sometimes I still feel the bruise you gave me all those years ago. I could swear I felt my cheekbone throb that night.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I imagine what could have been. If I were… different. If I were a better surgeon. A better man. If I had listened. If we had been kinder to one another. If we had talked. About anything. Ever. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I am under no illusion as to what I meant to you. I was merely stress relief. A way to take out your anger — whether that was alone in the supply tent or taking your hits in front of a crowd. I was your punching bag and you were my enemy and that was that. And it was enough, then. But I do wish that you’d stayed in my life, somehow. I always imagined you extending an olive branch of some sort. A visit. A phone call. A letter. A telegram. Silly of me, really. You were not the one in love. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I feel it now. A gentle but persistent throb that just won’t let me forget you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Regards, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Frank </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> P.S. I have included my return address on the envelope. I wasn’t going to, at first. After thorough consideration, I concluded that I owe you the option for a rebuttal, should you so wish.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Believe me though, Hawkeye, I know you won’t. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Frank is doing the dishes when he hears the knock. He quickly dries his hands on a towel and walks to the entryway to greet whatever poor salesman has the misfortune of coming to his door. </p><p> </p><p>When he opens it, a wrinkled piece of paper is violently shoved in his face and his hands fly up to catch it. An angry voice demands, “What the fuck is this?”</p><p> </p><p>Frank doesn’t even have time to respond before the man pushes past him and is now standing in his kitchen. He is facing away from Frank, seemingly appraising the apartment.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice little place you got here, Frankie,” the tone is bitter, taunting. </p><p> </p><p>“Pierce?” he says, voice cracking like a pubescent boy. </p><p> </p><p>The man turns around and he is greeted by a face he hasn’t seen in years. </p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s the milkman.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank takes in the sight of him. He’s much the same, though grayer and with a darkness in his eyes that Frank’s never seen before. And he’s wearing civvies. He looks good.</p><p> </p><p>“Wh—” Frank starts, shakes his head, tries again, “You—how?”</p><p> </p><p>Pierce looks pointedly down at where Frank still clutches the paper in his trembling hands. “You gave me your address,” he says simply. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, the pieces click into place. Frank looks down at his hands. He is holding a letter—<em>his </em>letter. “You read it?” Frank asks, unable to keep the tone of awe out of his voice. </p><p> </p><p><em>“Read </em> it?” Pierce gives a crazed laugh. Frank can’t read the expression on Pierce’s face. “What the fuck did you <em> think </em>I was going to do?”</p><p> </p><p>Frank is quiet when he says, “Throw it away?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, nah, nah, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just <em>say </em> —do you have any idea how fucking <em> manipulating? </em>You don’t get to <em> say </em> all of that and expect me not to—you let some man take you home and <em> fuck </em>you, Frank?”</p><p> </p><p>“I—” Frank is backing up now, cornered against the counter. There’s nowhere to go. Pierce is blocking the only exit.</p><p> </p><p>“And you <em>liked it ?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t… <em>dislike…</em> wait a minute—”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s my turn to talk now, Frank,” he spits out. “You broke the rule. There was one fucking rule and you went and broke it.” </p><p> </p><p>Frank feels a drawer handle dig into his lower back. He reaches back to grip the edge of the counter with both hands—his letter falling, forgotten, to the floor. </p><p> </p><p><em>“We,”</em> he growls, inching closer, <em>“don’t ”</em>—the safe space between them shrinks with every word—<em>“talk ”</em>—he grabs a fistful of Frank’s collar—<em>“about ”</em>—Frank squeezes his eyes shut—<em>“it .”</em></p><p> </p><p>Frank braces for the inevitable blow. His shoulders come up to cover his neck, head dropping down and back curling to protect his vital organs. His face is scrunched up and he knows that will only piss off Pierce <em>more </em>because he’s being “ferrety” but he can’t help himself when he <em>knows </em>he’s going to get punched again— </p><p> </p><p>And then he can’t breathe because something is crushing against his lips. It’s warm but not soft and definitely not sweet. It’s <em>angry </em>and it’s <em>wanton </em>and he can feel the fist clenched at his collar pulling, angling his face upward to allow for easier access to his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>Frank is too stunned to kiss back and Pierce seems to notice this and comes back to himself. <em>“Fuck,”</em>  he exhales the word, pulling back from Frank’s face and letting go of his shirt. Pierce looks at the ground, is that shame? Frank’s never seen that emotion in him before. “I thought… you wanted…” Pierce quickly shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” He turns on his heel. “I shouldn’t have come here—” Before he can take another step to the door Frank reaches out and catches his wrist.<br/><br/></p><p>“I thought you were going to hit me,” Frank says. Then adds, “Again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hit you?” He looks puzzled. “Why would I hit you?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not exactly unprecedented, Pierce.” Frank has no idea how he’s being so coherent right now.</p><p> </p><p>Pierce’s slack jaw snaps shut. He swallows. “You think I came a thousand miles on a train just to <em> punch you</em><em>?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know.” It’s all Frank can say. He’s barely even processed the fact that Pierce is <em> here </em> let alone that he had just… well. So he tugs on Pierce’s arm and guides him back until they’re standing face to face again. He looks up into Pierce’s eyes, trying to read the expression there. The only word he can come up with is <em>caged.</em> “Why did you?” he manages to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“As long as we’re being honest…” he trails off, removing Frank’s fingers from around his wrist and reaching up to cup his left cheek. “You didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about the night you had with that guy.” His touch grows firmer, hand slowly sliding down from Frank’s jaw to his throat, thumb pressing against his Adam's apple. “I wanted to show you…” he says softly, “how good it can <em> really </em>feel… when a man takes you.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank gulps. “How… did you know… he was the one who…” Pierce’s fingers are circling around his neck now, pressing just hard enough to let Frank know he <em>could </em>squeeze if he wanted to. Frank is trying hard to keep his breathing even. He is not doing well.</p><p> </p><p>Pierce huffs out a laugh, “Please, like anyone you picked up was gonna let you fuck him.”</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Frank says raggedly, feeling his vocal cords vibrate against Pierce’s palm. “You came all this way to…”</p><p> </p><p>“To top you, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank lets out a high-pitched whine. It comes from his throat but he is certain he did not authorize it. “In Korea, we… we never…”</p><p> </p><p>Pierce leans in and Frank can feel hot breath on his ear when he whispers, “This isn’t Korea.”</p><p> </p><p>And then he’s pushing Frank backward against the counter, holding his weight against him. Frank’s hands come up to clutch at Pierce’s shoulders so he doesn’t fall. Pierce’s thigh is pressed between his legs, forceful against his hardness. He moves his leg up and down, pressing into Frank in a way that makes him groan.</p><p> </p><p>Pierce meets his eyes. There is fire there. “Tell me to stop.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank kisses him—hard and angry like before but this time it’s shared. Pierce responds by opening his mouth and kissing back just as forcefully. He uses his free hand to unbuckle Frank’s belt. He’s clumsier than the other times they’ve done this, probably because he’s using his left hand. Frank wants to reach down and help him but he’s afraid he’ll fall backward. Pierce slides his hand down Frank’s throat, pressing flat against his chest. His lips follow the trail of his hand, nipping at Frank’s neck and detouring to the side to suck at the soft skin above his collarbone. No doubt there will be a new bruise there tomorrow. </p><p> </p><p>Pierce has given up trying to undo Frank’s belt with one hand and is now giving his full attention to the offending article. Once he undoes the fastenings on Frank’s pants, he reaches down to palm him through his shorts. Now they’re back in familiar territory. It feels good—right—but the position is awkward. His arms are shaking from trying to keep his grip on Pierce’s shoulders and his back is aching from the angle. He pushes Pierce away for a moment and they break apart, panting.</p><p> </p><p>Frank’s eyes dart to the bedroom door. “Maybe we should…” </p><p> </p><p>Pierce seems to get his meaning and roughly pulls him back up. “You’re right, and I should grab my bag before this goes any further.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank blinks. “Your bag?” He stands there, watching as Pierce walks back to the door and crouches down to retrieve a small shoulder bag he’d evidently dropped there when he’d first entered. Frank is frozen in place, flushed, pants halfway down his thighs. Pierce ignores him and walks past, into the bedroom. Dumbly, Frank shuffles along behind him. </p><p> </p><p>As always, Pierce makes himself at home here too. He dumps the contents of his bag out on the bed: cloth of some kind, condoms, gloves, surgical lubricant.</p><p> </p><p>“Why’d you bring all that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, come on now, Frankie.” He’s always teasing. “You’re a doctor. You know what it’s for.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s not sure how it’s possible, but Frank thinks he feels the flush on his face grow. “That’s not what I meant.”</p><p> </p><p>“I always come prepared.” His sneer might be mistaken for genuine humor. Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>Frank stands in the doorway, one foot in the bedroom. Pierce quirks an eyebrow at him. It’s unreadable. Frank doesn’t move. He is rewarded with a put-upon look as Pierce walks up to him, grabs him by the shoulders, and spins them around so Frank’s back is to the bed. Pierce says nothing as he unbuttons Frank’s shirt, sliding it off his muscular shoulders onto the floor. When he pushes at Frank’s chest, it is sudden and hard enough to make him fall backward onto the bed. Frank lands among the… supplies.</p><p> </p><p>Pierce’s grin has a wild edge to it now. He climbs onto the bed, straddling Frank’s hips. He grinds down for a moment, eyes closed, giving Frank the friction he wants but cannot ask for. Pierce kisses him again, running his hands up and down his chest, biceps, neck. Frank reaches out, tangles his fingers in long salt-and-pepper hair. He wants this. He wants Pierce. He wants… </p><p> </p><p><em> Hawkeye.</em> </p><p> </p><p>As if reading Frank’s thoughts, he strips off his own shirt, exposing his chest. Now Frank can touch him there too—he does. He was never allowed to touch back then. In Korea. No talking, no touching, no kissing. It was simple. Transactional. Nothing more than a quick… indiscretion in Supply. Never to be mentioned again. But this… this is different.</p><p> </p><p>“I like it when you call me that.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Frank hadn’t said anything. Had he?</p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye ignores this, turning his attention back to Frank’s pants. As he works them down Frank's thighs and pulls them off he says, “I’d been meaning to ask you… how was it?”</p><p> </p><p>“How was what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your little trip to the <em>den of iniquity,”</em> he says, removing Frank’s shorts so he is entirely exposed now.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. That.”</p><p> </p><p>Hawk takes Frank in his hand, stroking him. He reaches over Frank’s head to retrieve something on the bed. Meanwhile, Frank’s hands are busy touching every bit of skin they can reach. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. That,” he repeats, twisting his wrist and tightening his grip the way Frank always liked. Frank sees that he’s holding a surgical glove and the jar of lubricant now. </p><p> </p><p>It takes a moment of steadying breaths before Frank can reply. “Oh, I don’t know.” He’s trying to be nonchalant. “Quick. I suppose?” Frank bites his lip when Hawkeye thumbs at his most sensitive part. “Honestly I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. You told me once it felt so good… I thought if I was really… <em>you know …</em> then I would like it too. I didn’t really like it at first, but the pain went away about halfway through. I didn’t mind it after that.”</p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye’s hand stops moving. Frank cants his hips up, missing the friction. “No, no, no. It doesn't have to—ugh, did he at least use lube? A condom?”</p><p> </p><p>Frank looks away. He can feel the heat of Hawkeye’s gaze. “He said he didn’t have any.”</p><p> </p><p>Hawk’s eyes fall closed and his jaw clenches. He exhales a long breath through his nose. Frank just <em>knows </em>he’s judging him for doing it <em>wrong </em>and being a little <em> slut.</em> Going to a seedy bar and picking up some degenerate to fuck him because no one else would. </p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye curses, then seems to remember their current position—both hard, pressed against each other on Frank’s bed. The glower on his face turns to <em>that grin</em><em>,</em> which either meant Frank was about to get a new shiner or pulled into a supply closet and sucked off. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, lucky for you,” he says, snapping a glove onto his right hand, “I do.”</p><p> </p><p>He unscrews the jar and dips his gloved fingers into it. He surprises Frank by taking the time to rub his fingers together, warming the lube some before reaching down and— </p><p> </p><p><em> Oh. </em> Okay, so it’s still a little bit cold. Frank can work with that though. Hawkeye smiles down at the look on his face. He’s teasing him. Rubbing circles around him before entering with one finger. Frank expects him to make some remark about <em>playing doctor </em>or a prostate exam but he doesn’t. He just works Frank open, slowly. Gently. Frank is gasping, eyes pricking with tears at the feeling of Hawk’s fingers inside him. It’s not exactly painful—not like last time, at least—but it is overwhelming his senses. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you want me to—” </p><p> </p><p>“No. Keep going.”</p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye grins. Frank is trying his very best to be quiet. The walls in his apartment are not known for their insulation. Hawk is still looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Reading every twitch of his face to make certain he’s not going too fast. That he’s not hurting him. Frank can feel he’s going deeper now, reaching the end of his first finger. Frank nods to let him know he can add another. He can feel the process start over with two fingers now. Slowly opening him up, relaxing him. </p><p> </p><p>By the time Hawkeye adds his third finger, Frank has forgotten how to speak. His nails are digging into the skin of Hawkeye’s back. He feels something wet. Sweat? Blood? </p><p> </p><p>“You ready?” Hawk’s voice is low and gravely, interrupting his thoughts. Frank tries to give an affirmation but all that comes out is a high-pitched noise. He nods instead, emphatic. Hawkeye smiles again and removes his fingers completely. Frank’s whine is desperate, longing. He’s missing the feeling of being full of Hawkeye. </p><p> </p><p>Hawk chuckles. “Patience, Frankie.” He stands up, removes the glove and then the rest of his clothes. Frank can see all of him now. He’s clearly liking this just as much as Frank is. Hawkeye is red and throbbing when he rolls the condom down over himself and applies more lube. He strokes himself once, twice, eyes half-lidded and mouth quirked up in a smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Frank manages. </p><p> </p><p>“Aw, you don’t have to beg,” he says, climbing back onto the bed and kneeling between Frank’s legs. He runs his hands up and down Frank's thighs, feeling his muscles. “I’ll be nice.”</p><p> </p><p>Huh. That’s new.</p><p> </p><p>“Breathe out,” Hawkeye commands. Frank does as he’s told, letting out one long breath as Hawk enters him. It’s slow. Much slower than the last time Frank did this. Maybe Hawkeye’s right. It does feel awfully good when the right person is doing all the right things. His heels come up to squeeze against Hawk’s ass, pulling him as close as he can go. When Hawkeye bottoms out, Frank doesn’t have any air left in his lungs. It’s an effective way to stifle a shout. </p><p> </p><p>Hawk stays there for a moment, not moving. He’s checking for—pain? Anger? Disgust?—on  Frank’s face. He cranes his neck up, signaling for Hawkeye to bend down and kiss him again. Frank shifts his hips, letting him know it’s okay to move now. He does. But again, so, so, slowly. It’s driving Frank crazy. Wasn’t Hawkeye here to… well, to <em> fuck </em>him?</p><p> </p><p>“It’s—it’s okay… you can… you can…” Frank is breathing hard. He just wants Hawkeye to move, damnit. Or at least go back to stroking him again. </p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye leans down, breath hot against Frank’s ear, “Did he fuck you like this?”</p><p> </p><p>Frank whimpers and shakes his head <em>no. </em></p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye tuts at him. “That’s the problem with guys these days. They take you from behind and don’t care whether you enjoy it or not. Men are so selfish like that.”</p><p> </p><p>And then, finally, he moves. Pulling back and sliding in gently, ever so slowly. Frank can’t keep quiet. Hawkeye reaches up and covers his mouth with a firm hand, muffling his moans. “Careful, Frank. You’ll wake the neighbors.”</p><p> </p><p>The sounds may be quieter now but Frank does not stop making them. He’s falling apart, pulling on Hawkeye’s hair and bucking his hips up to try to increase their rhythm. Now Hawk lets out a long, low moan. Apparently, he likes what Frank’s doing to his hair. With as much consciousness as he can muster, Frank takes fistfuls of Hawkeye’s shaggy hair in his hands and squeezes. He’s twisting and tangling it between his fingers. Hawk’s hips snap forward and he’s going faster now, harder.</p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye’s usual mouthy banter has turned to heavy panting. He’s gripping Frank’s hip with his left hand—still stifling Frank’s moans with the other—and leans back on his knees. He pulls Frank closer to him, angling him in just the right way so he can press against that spot inside that makes Frank cry out into his palm. He can feel it building. Frank reaches down to touch himself but Hawk bats his hand away before he can. Why in god’s name— </p><p> </p><p>“You were in love?” Hawkeye whispers. When he takes Frank in his hand this time, it’s only one stroke before Frank’s eyes squeeze shut. He’s coming, moaning <em> Hawkeye </em>behind firm fingers. From somewhere that sounds far away, he thinks he hears his own name moaned back. Hawk’s breath is ragged. He stutters to a stop. Gently, he eases out, leaving Frank empty and still panting. </p><p> </p><p>Frank lies on his back on the bed. He doesn’t have the energy to move. To think. To do anything but bask in the feeling of how Hawkeye was touching his skin. He knows he must have a dumb grin on his face but he doesn’t care. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good. </p><p> </p><p>Eyes still closed, he can sense Hawk moving around. He hears water run and then feels a damp cloth wiping the mess off his belly. This small act of kindness, of consideration, astonishes Frank. It’s almost enough to make him cry. </p><p> </p><p>Frank feels the weight of a body dip the mattress down next to him. “Hey,” Hawkeye says softly. “I asked you a question.”</p><p> </p><p>“When?” Frank’s head is still swimming. Everything feels like a dream.</p><p> </p><p>“Just now. When you were—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. That.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. That.” Frank can hear the smile in Hawk’s voice. “So?” he prompts. “You said… In your letter… <em>‘You were not the one in love.’</em> Kinda implies that <em>you…</em> were.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still am.”</p><p> </p><p>“You are?”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Course I am, silly.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence. </p><p> </p><p>Frank feels a gentle hand caress his cheek, just under his left eye. Then Hawk presses a soft kiss there. Frank doesn’t think before he asks, “Are <em>you?”</em></p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye chuckles. “Why do you think I came all the way to Indiana?”</p><p> </p><p>“To... top me?”</p><p> </p><p>His laughter is louder now and Hawk’s lips move against his own. They are sweeter now, gentle in a way they never have been before. “Well, that too.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank smiles widely and wiggles his shoulders, snuggling into Hawkeye.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He must have fallen asleep because—somehow—it’s morning now. Frank can sense light streaming in through the window. He is scared to open his eyes—afraid that the next time he opens them Hawkeye will be gone. Bracing himself for the inevitable empty pillow beside him, he lets his eyelids flutter open. </p><p> </p><p>He rolls over into the free space of his empty bed. That’s fine. He wasn’t expecting anything less. Maybe last night hadn’t even happened at all.</p><p> </p><p>Then it hits him. The acrid smell of something burning. He gets out of bed in a panic, darts naked into the kitchen to find— </p><p> </p><p>“I burnt the eggs. Sorry.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fluff, I guess? this was supposed to be entirely feral and aggressive but hawnk said "No&lt;3"</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://captainafab.tumblr.com/">come talk to me on tumblr &lt;3</a><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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